Common Ground
by LaughingSenselessly
Summary: "I can't live without you," Clarke tells him in a broken whisper. Bellamy's still reeling, but in that moment the notion strikes him as ridiculous. "Yes, you can." "But—I—don't—want—to," she grinds out, shaking him by his collar with every word. (Or: Earth is the Titanic, and there aren't enough lifeboats. Bellamy doesn't think he deserves to be on one. S4 Speculative fic.)


**A/N: requested by merdok1993 on tumblr.. this was supposed to be a tiny little tumblr drabble. but *laughs maniacally* just roll with it I guess.**

 **please forgive me for typos!**

* * *

"I know what you're thinking," is the first thing she says when she climbs up the hill to where he's standing, watching where the boats are being filled with people.

She stops next to him and turns to face in the same direction he's facing—in the face of the boats that will take their people across the ocean. The sun is setting, painting a gloriously pink and yellow picture over the horizon of the sea. Bellamy knows that if he turned around to look behind him, he'd see a contrast in the ominous dark violet in the distance, the indicator of the lethal storms that have been chasing them for days; the storms that they are only now going to escape.

He notices that she's holding two metal cups in her hands. "One of those for me?"

"Maybe." Her answer is coy, but she doesn't offer one to him just yet. Her voice takes on an edge of determination. "You're thinking of staying here. Not coming with us."

Well, she's kind of right. He's been thinking more about dying.

He wonders if it would help. If, if he wades into the storm that rips apart the landscape as it accelerates towards them at this very moment, he wonders if the feeling of his skin blistering away, his breath being poisoned, and his heart slowing to a stop would end the _real_ pain that he feels.

He's so caught up in this fantasy that he doesn't realize for a minute that Clarke is looking up at him expectantly, waiting for an answer; and when he does, he simply shrugs his shoulders. "I'm not just thinking it. I'm doing it." His voice is quiet and measured and calm, exactly how he feels now knowing it's all coming to an end.

Her reply is instant and firm. "No, you're not." He almost smiles at the notion that she could just tell him no. He's thought about this. He's been thinking about it ever since Luna announced that she couldn't take all of the Sky People across the ocean to salvation.

And Bellamy… well, after all that he's done, why should he deserve salvation over someone else?

All their efforts to preserve their corner of the world had failed, but there is still four percent out there, most of it across the ocean, that is salvageable. He's often wondered what the world must be like on the other side, but he's decided already that he isn't ever going to see it.

"I am," he replies. "I took myself off the list they drew up ages ago." Clarke's mouth drops open, but he keeps going, feeling that strange calm wash over him again. "If I get on that boat, someone else has to get off. You know that." She keeps shaking her head at him.

"Bellamy, I'll talk to my mom and Kane—"

He cuts her off. "You can't stop this. I volunteered, just like all the others. It's not any different." It's just like in the Culling, except this time Bellamy will participate. It's fitting, really.

"Except it is," Clarke argues. She's working to keep her voice even, but he can sense the underlying tension there. "It is, because those people are staying because they want their family and friends to live, and _you're_ staying because you think you deserve to _die_."

"Maybe it's both," he replies darkly, but she's not done.

"And you _don't_ deserve that. You deserve to live, why can't you see that?" He snorts.

"Clarke, after everything I've done— I don't deserve to be on one of those boats more than anyone else. We all know it." A pang of bitterness hits him amidst the sea of calm. "Our people are better off without me."

"That's _not_ true."

But it is. "I always end up doing the wrong thing. Hurting people."

"You never meant to."

He thinks about Lincoln. About Monroe. "Well, that didn't stop them from getting hurt." He thinks about Octavia. "That doesn't stop them from hating me for it." As they should, really.

"But they don't get it," Clarke says fiercely. "They don't understand what it's like, to have to make impossible decisions all the time. _I_ do. We bear that, so they don't have to. And if you don't come with us, then _they_ have to start bearing it. Is that what you want?"

Stricken, Bellamy casts a look back to the shoreline. Bellamy loves his people more than anything. He loves them so much that it hurts. No matter how they might push him away now, he would never, ever want to put the burden that he bears on any of them.

He hates that Clarke knows this. That she exploits it, tries to twist the situation so that he will feel a duty to come with them. He hates that it's kind of working. So he takes a moment to pull himself together.

"Just stop, Clarke," he says finally, not unkindly but firm enough to let her know he's onto her manipulation game. "This burden is all mine. It gets buried with me."

"No, it doesn't," she says instantly, eyes blazing. She's still holding cups in her hands, so she jabs his arm with her elbow, and he jumps a little at the sudden touch. "Everything terrible you've done, you've done for our people. Same as me." He doesn't reply, and she tilts her head. "Come on, Bellamy. _Please_ come with us. We can get through this."

She's pleading with him, and that distraught voice tugs at his heartstrings, but something tugs at them more; those familiar words that he'd once used on her.

 _We can get through this_. Because that's what they always _did_ up til then— they always figured it out somehow, together. But as much as he begged her to stay, she didn't. And he gets it, and he doesn't fault her for taking that time for herself (much); they've mostly gotten past it, but it still _bites_ him sometimes.

And it's biting him in an even bigger way right now, because now she's throwing it back in his face. Unintentionally, sure, but it still makes him stiffen. He doesn't say anything. But she does seem to realize that he's even more solidly in his decision.

She glares at him. "So that's it? I can't convince you?"

"I'm not going," he confirms.

"Then I'm staying," she shoots back, lifting her chin, and no, no _no_. His hand shoots out to grab her elbow as she turns.

"You're _not_ staying."

"Why not?" she demands, turning back abruptly, so fast her hair whirls and hits his face. Which makes him realize how close they're standing. "Whatever _you've_ done, I've done just as bad, maybe worse. And yet, you're the only one sitting here thinking you deserve to die? Maybe someone more worthy should take _my_ place on the boat, too."

He grits his teeth, heart thumping wildly in his chest. But he's trying not to let it show. "That's not how this works."

"Hmm," she says, offering a bright smile at him. And now the tables have turned; _he's_ the one who's irritated, trying to convince her, and she's the one perfectly content in the decision she's made, regardless. While he's trying to find the right words, she finally offers out a cup to him. "How about we have that drink now?" Her voice is deliberately light and airy, designed to grate on him.

He takes it out of habit and watches her toss hers back, smacking her lips and gazing back over the ocean. A horn blows from the shore— it's almost time to go.

"What?" she asks, all chipper. "Nothing to say?"

He glares at her and tosses his own drink back to give himself a moment to think. It burns down his throat satisfyingly, and when he lowers the cup he says, "They need you, Clarke."

She taps her fingers on the metal rim of her cup. "Not really. I was gone for three months and they were fine."

"For the love of god, Clarke!" he bursts, throwing his cup into the dirt in anger. She blinks a few times at his outburst, but no other reaction. "You can't stay. They won't let you. There are people who care about you going on that boat. People who _love_ you on that boat, and it's n—"

"And there's not people who love _you_ on that boat?" she cuts him off harshly.

He stops, pauses at the brightness he sees suddenly glinting in her eyes. And then, he replies slowly. "There's only one person who loved me, and now I'm as good as dead to her." Bitterness tinges his words. "Might as well finish the job."

Clarke brushes off the mention of his sister like it's nothing. "I'm not _talking_ about Octavia. I'm talking about our friends." Her voice shudders. "I'm talking about _me_."

There's complete silence. Deafening, really. Bellamy feels his lips part and himself blink stupidly a few times trying to catch up with what that means, but he never gets the opportunity to because she closes the distance between them.

Kisses him.

He's only in shock for a moment— Clarke's lips are on his lips— her nose is squished up against his nose and it's awkward for about a millisecond before he kisses her back.

He doesn't keep it a chaste kiss, no; he pulls her impossibly closer and cups her cheeks; he deepens the kiss as much as he can, tilting his head for a better angle. He kisses her thoughtfully, carefully despite his wildly beating heart, savouring every moment; he kisses her like he's only imagined in private snatches of thought.

If he wasn't gonna die tomorrow— he wouldn't be doing this. He'd be stepping back, he'd be making sure they were both in their right mind, making sure they both wanted this, he'd take it slow— he'd be trying to do this right. But nothing is right anymore, so he'll take this instead.

(It still feels so, so right.)

She pulls away quickly, but only for a moment. Her cheeks are stained with tears, and she wipes a thumb over his cheek. The cool wetness that comes away on her thumb surprises him.

"I can't live without you," she tells him in a broken whisper.

He's still reeling, but in that moment the notion strikes him as ridiculous. "Yes, you can."

"But—I—don't—want—to," she grinds out, shaking him by his collar with every word. "Bellamy." His name on her lips rips through his chest, tearing his heart in two so that the soft inside of it is vulnerable to her every whim. It's dangerous, what she does to him. She's looking at him like he's the world, and it takes his breath away.

Her blue eyes are searching his soul and they look so bright that he thinks that she somehow must have found something _beautiful_ there, and that surge of want goes through him again. A _want_ to go with Clarke. To go to salvation with the rest of them. To go see what a future could be like with her. He _wants_ that, so badly, and he suddenly thinks he doesn't have the power to resist, no matter the fact that he's not on that damned list.

"Look at me," Clarke breathes, and it's a redundant command because he's unable to _stop_. They're so close now that he can feel her breath shudder in her chest. Her hands slide up from his collar to cup his cheeks. And then she falls into him again.

He matches her desperately, and he feels her hands curl into the ends of his hair, her sigh into his mouth—a warm puff of air— he's struck again with the realization that Clarke Griffin is _kissing_ him, and her body is folding against his, and her touch is tender and soft and all at once too much— he feels dizzy at it all.

And then another wave of dizziness, one so strong that it gives him pause.

He stills against her lips and she does too, pulling away slightly.

Her eyes are blue and wide and still shiny with tears, but there's something else there. There's that cunning glint to her eye underneath the emotion. But before he can read into it, his vision goes blurry. He tries to open his mouth, say her name, but his tongue feels like lead all of a sudden, and he feels like there's cotton stuck in his ears.

She's just watching him, and her carefully neutral expression lurches sideways with the rest of the world.

"I'm sorry," she whispers as his knees buckle and he pitches forward. She catches him around the middle, and he's dimly aware of her sinking to her knees, bringing him down to the ground with her. One of her hands goes up to the back of his head in something of a comforting gesture and she cradles his head against her chest.

His eyes blink slowly and lazily one last time manage to focus for a brief moment, falling on the cups that have fallen to the ground. All at once, he understands. He tries to open his mouth, but he can't seem to make his throat work.

"Shh," she soothes, pulling his face more closely against his chest. "I'm sorry," she says again tearfully. "But I can't risk it. I can't risk you."

He's too tired to grasp what this means. He closes his eyes. He thinks he feels the ghost of her lips brushing against his temple, and then he's gone.

—

She waits for him to wake up in the small room on Luna's rig.

Bellamy's lying on his back, head turned to the side and breathing evenly as Clarke draws her knees up to her chest from the stool she's been watching from. He's been lying still in sleep for hours after they hefted his body onto the bed. The draught that Clarke stole from Luna's stores knocked him out good— or more likely, he was already more exhausted than he let on.

But he's alive, and he's here; and that's what matters.

He coughs a little suddenly and Clarke starts at the same time that he lurches up into a sitting position, eyes bleary but panicked. Clarke jumps up immediately, shoving a tin cup of water into his hands. He's coughing again and accepts it immediately. But then he pauses. His head is tilted back and the edge of the cup is barely touching his lips, but he stops and his eyes narrow slightly with suspicion.

"I'm not drugging you again," Clarke reassures even while guilt twists her gut. "It's just water." He doesn't move. He just stares at her flatly. Clarke sighs and takes the cup from him— she takes a long sip just to prove her point, then hands it back. He watches her swallow, and then he finally downs the whole thing in one go. He sets it down, and then—silence.

She's been trying to prepare herself for this conversation for hours, but she's still not ready when he says tersely, "You _drugged_ me." His voice is hoarse.

"You took the drink from me," she can't help but point out dryly. "Technically, you drugged yourself." He doesn't look like he appreciates the humor very much.

"But you were _planning_ on giving it to me."

"If I had to," she says immediately, and cringes internally at her own wording. _Had to, had to_ —she's always justifying her own atrocities with that excuse, and it feels like a useless echo at this point. "I wasn't going to risk it." She'd known all along that Bellamy might try to pull something like this; but when the time came, she'd hoped she'd be able to talk him out of it. She hadn't wanted it to come to _that_.

He glares at her, jaw working. It's a betrayal of trust, despite her good intentions, and they both know it. And after the rift that grew between them after Mount Weather, this is going to set them back.

Clarke doesn't care. It's worth it.

She sits down carefully on the edge of the bed with him. He doesn't move away, doesn't flinch when her pinky finger brushes his hand, which she takes as a good sign. After a slight hesitation, she speaks. "Bellamy, I do trust you. You _know_ I trust you with my life," Clarke tells him sincerely, and she watches his expression go softer at her words, at least until she goes on. "But I'm not so sure that I trust you with yours."

He closes his eyes at that. A muscle in his jaw works a few times before he utters softly, "You almost had me convinced, you know," he utters softly.

"Not quite." She feels an overwhelming sadness at that.

"And how would you be able to tell?"

She swallows thickly. "From the way that you kissed me back." The way that he kissed her immediately and deeply, without hesitation, without _talking_ —like this first time was going to be the last time, and he was going to fit a lifetime of loving into it.

He's silent, so she thinks that he knows exactly what she means. There's a sticky moment between them—because she just acknowledged that _they kissed_ —and she clears her throat and goes on hurriedly before they can both dwell on that earth-shattering fact for too long. "I'm sorr— actually, you know what?" she cuts herself off because she's suddenly feeling angry again. "I'm _not_ sorry. I shouldn't have to apologize for keeping you alive when you seem to think your life doesn't mean anything."

"I get it, okay?" he growls down at the floor. "I get it. You need me. You all need me."

"Yes!" she bursts, standing up to turn to face him. He's still sitting on the edge of the bed, glowering. "But that's not just it. You shouldn't just _accept_ being alive to hold a burden for other people. You should— you should live for _yourself_ , too." And she feels a little bit like she's talking to herself, too— this is something that they both struggle with seeing. But maybe they can help each other do that.

Bellamy looks up. The glare is gone, and something else is there instead. Something beautiful and heartbreaking in equal measure— _longing_.

"How?" It's just a whisper. His mouth flattens into a line, but she can still tell his lips are trembling. And his eyes that flick towards her, they're pleading with her. Pleading to _give_ him something.

She wishes she had answers to give. "I don't know, Bellamy," she says gently, and watches him let out a tired sigh. "But maybe…" she swallows and sinks back onto the mattress next to him, her shoulder brushing against his— "Maybe we can figure out how to do that. Together." He stiffens, and she knows why— so she quickly adds, "And maybe I don't have the right to ask that from you, and that's fine. It's just an offer."

He's silent for so long that she thinks he's just ignoring her, but then he opens his mouth. "An offer, huh?"

Clarke nods.

He hesitates, then reaches out to scoop up her hand where it's resting on the bed beside his thigh. The warmth of his palm feels like it's radiating into her skin, seeping through her bones and embracing her soul. She hopes that she does the same for him—that she makes him feel like he's home. He deserves to feel the same kind of peace that she does when he touches her. She runs her thumb over his hand, and Bellamy seems to relax into it.

He looks less beat down and exhausted than he has in weeks when he says softly, still staring down at their joined hands, "Maybe I'll take you up on it."

Then he looks up, and there's just the trace of a smile in his eyes. She smiles back, and they sit in companionable silence for a good minute. It's like the kiss didn't even happen.

Maybe it didn't. Maybe she imagined it? In any case, it's not the right time. Maybe it never will be.

Instead, after a minute Bellamy asks guardedly, "So did someone—someone _took_ my place?"

It takes a moment for her to remember Luna's list, and the lifeboats thing; and when she does, she's a bit surprised it didn't occur to him to ask earlier. "No one," she reassures him hastily, in the face of his quiet rising panic.

"Then how did you—" he stops and sighs. "You hid it from Luna, didn't you."

Clarke doesn't reply. Yes, she might have found a way to smuggle him on board, with the help of a few of their friends. It's really a long story that she doesn't care to tell him, especially with all the close calls in between. So she simply nods. He sighs again.

"And what are you planning to do when she finds out?"

She provides her typical response. "We'll figure something out."

He snorts and rubs a hand over his face. He tries to stifle his yawn, but Clarke knows better.

"Get some sleep," she advises.

"Some _more_ sleep, you mean." He removes his hand from his face to reveal a slight smirk. She's relieved he's not more mad about it, honestly.

She stands up and bumps her hip into his shoulder playfully. "That's right."

She heads for the door now—there's things to take care of, and she's confident he's fine, but he stops her a step away from the door with her name.

"Clarke."

She stops and turns. He's still sitting there, expression indecipherable, but voice so, so soft; her name a caress upon his lips. "After everything," he says slowly, "You still believe in me."

He's trying to be casual about it but Clarke's not an idiot. She knows that he's trying to say _thank you_ , but maybe those exact words won't come to him right now. She plays for nonchalance as well, leaning against the door. "That's just what we do for each other, Bellamy. We both make mistakes. But we still believe in each other, and we understand each other, and we _forgive_ each other, even when no one else will."

He absorbs the impact of that, nods slowly. Then he smiles a bit sardonically at the floor. "Doesn't that just mean we're _both_ monsters?"

"Maybe." The world has made them this way, though. And she thinks it might be time they stopped apologizing for that. As Clarke opens the door to leave, she adds, "But at least we're not alone."

—

Luna is no fool.

She knows what Clarke did. She knows that the girl brought Bellamy on board and expected her not to notice— as if Luna could be unaware of anything that happens on her rig. She knew the whole time. But for some reason… she didn't stop Clarke from doing it, either.

She's not sure why she pretends not to know. Later she confronts Clarke and the truth comes out and Clarke makes promises and grovels in exchange for Luna allowing this one infraction of her rules, and... Luna relents.

Which is unheard of.

The next morning, Luna's standing on deck helping some of her people gut and clean the fish they caught— and she sees Bellamy emerge from inside the mess hall and into the daylight. He blinks a few times, adjusting to the sun; and immediately after, his eyes scan the deck. Luna knows who he's looking for.

(She feels a strange pang in her stomach.)

Bellamy's eyes fall on Clarke, who has her back to them. Clarke is leaning against the railing and looking off at the ocean, just like she's been doing for the past hour. And Bellamy's expression changes. He simply stands there watching Clarke for a moment. The look on his face is achingly familiar.

(Luna misses Derrick.)

Bellamy makes his way over to Clarke, and when he reaches her Clarke turns and Luna watches the girl's features soften like they do for no one else. Bellamy says something to her lowly, leaning his hands on the railing as well. She ducks her head closer to his to hear him over the rushing noise of the ocean; their noses brush for the briefest of moments, but neither of them seem to notice, so wrapped up as they are in whatever they're talking about.

Clarke murmurs something and they both grin. Luna's struck at how young they both look in that moment.

Luna really, really misses Derrick.

And as she decides right there while watching Clarke and Bellamy smile at each other, she is glad that she didn't put that pain on someone else.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **"There is a kind of common ground that exists only between Clarke and Bellamy: a hallowed place of humanity inside both of them that over the door reads 'whatever else happens, this one piece of good earth will not be compromised, even if it costs my life'." **

**- _MythConception review of Wanheda Part 2_**

 **wow i am SUPER emo... anyways**

 **I really loveeee reviews because tangible feedback feeds my soul! *winks several times***

 **wellsjahasghost on tumblr :)**


End file.
